


The Weight of Expectation

by fanoftheknight



Series: A Knight For The Seven Kingdoms [4]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: A little bit of angst, F/M, Jorah and Daenerys and their happy and healthy offspring, Some sexy times, a little bit of intrigue, a little bit of politics here and there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:21:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 19,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26154871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanoftheknight/pseuds/fanoftheknight
Summary: Part III of the 'A Knight for the Seven Kingdoms' series.Queen Daenerys Targaryen and King Jorah Mormont have ruled over the Seven Kingdoms for many years, overseeing a time of great change and prosperity. As their children grow, the pressure to make political marriage alliances grow with them. Will love be the death of duty?
Relationships: Jorah Mormont/Daenerys Targaryen
Series: A Knight For The Seven Kingdoms [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1596802
Comments: 130
Kudos: 56





	1. You're Only As Old As You Feel

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on leave from work this week and so I've decided to post the first chapter of this new story a few days earlier than I had originally intended. I hope you enjoy it!

“Was it as bad as you feared?” Daenerys asked, closing the door to their quarters and linking her arms behind her husband’s neck.

“It was worse,” Jorah replied, giving her a pained look. “Much worse.”

She laughed at his discomfort, knowing that Jorah had never much enjoyed celebrating his name day, especially now it was his sixtieth.

“I am an old man and old men neither frolic nor dance at parties,” he groused, moving away from his wife and unfastening the top two buttons of his tunic.

“You are as old as you feel,” Daenerys replied, removing her cloak and hanging it on the back of the door.

“And I am feeling decidedly old today,” Jorah sighed. 

Daenerys was not unaccustomed to her husband’s penchant for brooding when the mood took him, the days before and after his name day would often be the times he allowed his melancholy get the better of him. He would argue that the older he got, the less of a man he would be in the eyes of his wife.

Of course, that had never been the case as far as Daenerys was concerned, especially considering that she recently celebrated her own forty-first name day. She had grown older, her waist less firm than it had been in her youth, but Jorah had not desired her any less and she was at a loss as to how he could think that she somehow saw him as less attractive than he once was.

Like a fine wine, her taste for her husband had only grown with time, his greying, thinning hair and the laughter lines around his face were some of the things that she loved the most about him. Although he no longer actively trained with the King and Queensguard, Jorah continued his tutelage of both Samwell Tarly and the man’s eldest son and was insistent that he would not become a ‘fat and useless’ king if he could help it.

Jorah’s physique was still one of a man half his age and decades of wielding a sword helped him to build a powerful frame that was still as strong to this day as it had ever been.

“Jorah, I love you,” Daenerys said, walking over to him and taking him in her arms again. “You may think that you are old, but I can assure you that you’re not.”

Jorah didn’t look convinced and Daenerys knew she would have to kiss him thoroughly to make him see sense.

Taking his head in her hands, she kissed him deeply as they stumbled towards the table they often broke their fast as a family on. Jorah laid her down gently and began kissing at her neck and chest as she fumbled with the remaining buttons of his tunic, dismayed to find that his quick work had her almost naked before him.

“You are wearing far too many clothes, ser,” Daenerys smirked, cocking an eyebrow at him.

He was her partner, lover, husband, and king, yet the way she called him ‘ser’ in their more intimate moments was a term of endearment that only the two of them shared and it never failed to ignite the passion between them.

Jorah shrugged out of his tunic as Daenerys pulled at his breeches, trying to divest him of them as soon as possible, giggling as her husband cursed underneath his breath as he tried and failed to get his boots off with his feet alone.

She suddenly felt her arms gently pinned over her head and saw Jorah grinning above her.

“You were saying, Khaleesi?”

Oh, this was a game they would never tire of playing and their reckless abandon was made all the sweeter by knowing that their four children were staying with the Tarly’s until the morrow, giving the two lovers all night to make the most of their solitude.

Daenerys pursed her lips, studying her husband for a moment.

“You know, perhaps you are right,” she said from her prone position on the table. “Perhaps you are getting old.”

He stopped, his manhood mere millimetres from where she needed him the most.

“Really,” he teased her, threatening to take a step back. “Is that so?”

“Jorah, please,” she begged. “You will regret it if you make me wait any longer.”

Her words were playful, although Jorah knew that his wife would make him pay for his transgressions sooner or later and the thought of that made him even harder.

He moved into her swiftly before holding himself in place, both of them sighing as they came together in the most intimate of ways.

“I love you,” Jorah said, leaning down to kiss her tenderly on the lips, still not moving or giving Daenerys the sensation she craved. “I will always love you,” he said as he finally began moving within her. Soon, Daenerys found her legs being lifted higher as Jorah began to hit that special spot deep inside of her that never failed to make her come undone. They moved in unison for several minutes before Daenerys found her release and Jorah followed soon after.

Daenerys knew that she could have stayed wrapped in his intimate embrace all evening and it was only the growling of her husband’s stomach that ruined the moment between them. They both laughed with Jorah stifling his mirth in the crook of her neck.

He slipped out of her reluctantly, kissing her on the cheek as he collected their robes from the bedroom and slipped hers over her shoulders.

“It is a good job that I had the kitchen prepare us some food,” Daenerys said, leading her husband to the hearth and presenting him with several plates and bowls that were spread out across a fur blanket.

Although a party was held in Jorah’s honour for his name day, that was for the benefit of the keep and their subjects. The meal that Daenerys had planned was for Jorah and Jorah alone.

“We have salted fish, rabbit pie, and deer stew,” Daenerys said proudly, lifting the lid off of each plate and bowl in turn.

The gesture was not lost on Jorah. Daenerys had gone to great lengths to give the man she loved a little piece of his homeland. Their visits to Bear Island were few and far between and although their life was in King’s Landing, Daenerys knew just how much he missed the island of his birth.

Jorah leaned over to kiss his wife as they made themselves comfortable on the fur throw, the fire in the hearth crackling and popping as they enjoyed their evening meal with a jug of the finest Dornish red that had been sent by the Prince of Dorne himself, no doubt wishing to gain his monarch’s favour now that he had a daughter who had recently experienced her first moon’s blood.

Talk of arranged marriages and betrothals could wait for another time as far as Jorah was concerned. He dipped a piece of bread into the stew and popped it in his mouth.

“We couldn’t get to Bear Island in time for your name day, but I thought we could bring Bear Island to you.”

Jorah gave her a warm smile.

“I still don’t know what I’ve done to deserve you,” he said, looking at her like he had all those years ago when he claimed that he couldn’t quite believe that she was real.

“Because you do,” Daenerys replied as she took a sip of her own wine. “Perhaps now you can rid yourself of the foolish notion that you are somehow less worthy than other men.”

The words were said gently, although it was a point of constant frustration for Daenerys to know that her husband continued to think so little of himself.

Jorah smiled and said nothing, knowing that it was easier not to argue with her. When Daenerys had made up her mind, there was little anyone could do to change it.

“I also got us peaches,” Daenerys said, lifting the lid from the final bowl, smiling at the look of surprise on Jorah’s face. “You brought me peaches all those years ago, so it only seems right that I bring you some, too.”

Scooting over, she placed a peach in front of Jorah’s mouth and watched as he bit into it.

“They are delicious,” he said around a mouthful of the fruit, trying to catch the juices that ran into his beard only to have Daenerys’ tongue beat him to it.

“May I have a taste?” She asked seductively, smiling as his mouth opened for hers and the flesh and juices of the fruit mixed between them. The erotic nature of what they were doing was not lost on either of them as the food soon became forgotten and they removed each other’s gowns easily, once again falling into a passionate embrace.

As far as name days went, this one was turning out most pleasantly as far as Jorah was concerned.


	2. Love and Duty

“Is everything alright?” Jorah asked his young squire as they donned their protective gear in the training room, readying themselves for their twice-weekly training session in the art of sword fighting.

Young Samwell Tarly seemed surprised by the question.

“Of course, Your Grace,” the sixteen year old boy answered quickly.

Sam had feared that Jorah’s tutelage of him would end once the man was crowned king of the Seven Kingdoms, but Jorah assured his young charge that he would continue to train and guide him, despite him having several other obligations to both his wife and the realm.

Their roles had changed slightly and Sam was grateful for the opportunities that being taken under the wing of the King of Westeros afforded him. He had been able to travel to places and cities that he’d never seen before, witness council meetings in the throne room, and stand by the king and queen’s side as they went about their royal duties.

He was sixteen now, almost a man grown, and with that came the realisation that he was surrounded by a bevy of young women and he’d begun to find their presence most distracting. One young woman in particular caught his eye and Sam found himself often thinking of her when he should be concentrating on squiring for the king. He was afforded an opportunity that no other squire could ever lay claim to. He was a fortunate boy indeed.

For all his fortune, Sam found himself longing to spend more time in the presence of the pretty young woman Ellese who worked in the kitchens of the keep. With her long, flowing strawberry-blonde hair and large green eyes, she was the most captivating vision Sam had ever laid eyes on, even more so now that her womanly figure had bloomed. It was the image of her womanly figure that caused Sam to wake up of a morning painfully hard as he thought about running his hands through her gorgeous red hair…

Would people think he was marrying below his station if he asked for her hand? He was the squire to the King of Westeros, surely he would be expected to make a better match than a lowly kitchen maid?

But marrying meant that he would never be able to join the Royal Guard, just as he dreamed of as a small boy when King Jorah first took him on. He had pinned all of his hopes on finally earning the right to wear the white flowing cloak of the finest knights in all the land.

Sam put those thoughts to one side as he lifted two training swords from the wall, readying himself in a fighting stance as he waited for his king to strike the first blow.

It was not long before steel struck steel as Jorah threw his weight between two hefty blows, both of which Sam was able to deflect and counter.

“What troubles you?” Jorah asked, moving deftly to the side, stepping out of the way of Sam’s telegraphed blow.

“Nothing, Your Grace,” Sam answered, lunging forward and finding himself knocked off balance by the older man.

“Sam, I am an old man,” Jorah said, catching his young charge with another blow that had found its way through the younger man’s defences. “You would normally have me on the floor and yielding by now.”

Sam shrugged his shoulders and stepped out of the way of another blow from Jorah, wiping the sweat from his forehead as they danced around each other.

“I do not wish to injure my king,” Sam replied with the hint of a smile on his lips. “The queen would have my head if I hurt you.”

Jorah laughed.

“I have suffered worse, believe me,” the older man replied. “Now, I won’t ask you again. Fight like you mean it.”

The two of them stepped back and forth until the age difference between them began to show as Jorah started tiring and dropping his defences slightly. Sam knew it would only take a few more blows to break through his stubborn resistance completely. With one last heave of his sword, Sam knocked Jorah’s weapon from his hand before hooking his foot under the other man’s legs and bringing him to the floor.

Sam stood over his fallen king, his sword pointing over the older man’s heart. He smiled and then offered his hand to his monarch, only to find his own legs swept from under him and a small dirk at his throat.

“Never let your defences down,” Jorah said, stowing the knife away as quickly as he had brandished it and pulling his young charge to his feet. “Never turn your back on your enemy unless you know he is dead.”

Sam brushed himself down glumly and placed the swords back in the rack on the wall.

“I still have much to learn about many things, it would seem.”

Jorah sat beside him on the bench.

“You are distracted,” Jorah said, wiping his forehead with a cloth. “A knight cannot be effective if he cannot concentrate and so I will ask you once more, what is troubling you, Sam?”

“I’m not sure if it is a conversation fit for a king’s ears,” Sam said carefully, his cheeks growing red.

Jorah chuckled.

“This is about a woman, I take it?”

The expression on Sam’s face gave him away immediately and it caused the older man to chuckle again.

“I may be old, Sam,” Jorah said as he took a swig of water and handed the rest to Sam. “But I was once a green young boy just like you.”

Sam squirmed awkwardly.

“Who is she?” Jorah asked.

“Ellese, from the kitchens,” Sam replied. 

“I know of the girl,” Jorah said, stroking his bearded chin carefully. “Does she know that she has your affections?”

“Not yet,” Sam replied. “I’m not sure it is wise to tell her either.”

Jorah turned his head to look at his squire.

“Why not? She is probably waiting for you to make the first move. Relationships are terribly complicated like that,” Jorah said, chuckling to himself again.

“I like her,” Sam said, running his hand through his short black hair. “I like her a great deal and I think that we could perhaps be happy together.”

“Then what is the issue?”

Sam frowned. “I wish to join the Royal Guard when the time is right…if I am considered worthy enough of a place in it. What would happen if Ellese and I were happy together and wanted to start a family? I would be forced to make a choice…forced to choose between love and duty.”

“I see,” Jorah said after a lengthy pause. “That is quite the conundrum.”

“It has always been the highest honour to serve under you, Your Grace, and I have spent my whole life preparing to become a part of the Royal Guard, but if I swear that oath I will not be allowed to take a wife nor have a family and I am at a loss as to what to do. I cannot have both and yet I do not know which path to choose.”

“Have you spoken to your father about this?” Jorah asked.

Sam shook his head. “It is difficult to talk about women with one’s father,” he said, grimacing slightly at the thought.

Jorah knew only too well how embarrassing it could be to talk about women to a man who was your father. His own had given him little in the way of advice when it came to garnering and keeping a woman’s affections.

“What would you do, Your Grace?” Sam asked, looking at him hopefully.

Jorah wasn’t sure he was the best person to answer such a question, especially considering the way he had ruined himself and his reputation for the love of a woman. Lynesse had left both him and his reputation in tatters and it had taken years of repentance to earn any of that back again. Given a choice though, Jorah would always follow his heart, even if it brought him to ruin.

“I cannot make the choice for you, Sam,” Jorah said as he got to his feet. “You will know when the time is right, and I have faith that you’ll make the correct decision.”

It wasn’t what the young man wanted to hear, but Jorah knew it was all he had to offer right now. He left his young squire in the training room and perhaps he had done more harm than good, but perhaps there was also a way he could put that right…

* * *

Jorah took another swig of water from his goblet, gently admonishing his two youngest children to slow down when it came to eating their evening meal. Jeorge and Anabaella were almost eight years old and both were the spitting image of their parents, just as Aeron and Rhaena were. Their two eldest children were now old enough to have their own small quarters next to their parents, with both being separated by a door.

Aeron placed his cutlery down and wiped his mouth with a napkin.

“May we leave the table and return our quarters, father?” He said as he looked to his twin sister who had also finished her evening meal.

“Have you finished the tasks you were set by the maester?” Jorah asked as the twins nodded in unison. “Yes, you may leave the table,” both of the twins got to their feet quickly and kissed their mother and father on the cheek before running to the door to their rooms.

It was then that Jorah noticed Daenerys had only finished half of her evening meal and seemed distracted during the conversations around the dinner table.

“Finish your meals and get yourselves ready for bed,” Jorah said to his youngest two children. “I’ll come and read you a bedtime story soon.”

The children shot from their chairs, pushing playfully at each other in their haste to wash their faces and change into their nightclothes.

“Daenerys,” Jorah asked, placing his hand on her arm. “Is everything ok?”

She smiled at him. “Everything is fine, I just feel a little off this evening.”

It was true, she did seem slightly paler than usual and Jorah hadn’t missed the way his wife winced as she sat down to their meal earlier.

“Should I send for Sam?” Jorah asked nervously.

Daenerys shook her head, giving her husband what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

“It is probably something I ate. I am sure I will be fine tomorrow,” she answered him. “Now, go and read our children their story. Do not leave your adoring public waiting.”

Jorah leaned over and kissed his wife on the side of her head. Once his fatherly duties were done, he would ensure that they would also have an early night. Hopefully, a good night’s sleep would see Daenerys feeling better come the morning.


	3. Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow?

“I appreciate you meeting me before the small council meeting,” Jorah said as Maester Samwell Tarly shuffled into the room behind Davos Seaworth, Hand to the King and Queen of Westeros.

“You’re most welcome, Your Grace,” Davos replied, taking a seat at the table opposite his monarch.

Jorah frowned. “There is no need for such formalities,” he told his two subjects. “Jorah will suffice.”

Such formalities were one of the elements of his new position that Jorah found the most difficult to deal with and every time someone called him ‘Your Grace,’ it made him feel even more like a fraud. It was a position he had only inherited because Sansa Stark gambled that Daenerys would refuse her demands in making Jorah king. The title served to remind him that he was nothing more than a knight from a low-born House on the outer northern fringes of Westeros.

“You wanted to speak with us?” Sam asked, taking his own seat. “Is everything well with the queen?”

Jorah didn’t answer. His wife barely ate anything during their evening meal and her pale complexion was giving Jorah increasing cause for concern but nevertheless, it was not the reason why he had called Sam and Davos to meet with him so early in the day.

“The Royal Guard have served in King’s Landing for centuries, under every monarch for as long as records show,” Jorah began.

Davos nodded. “They have, Your - “ he stopped himself before he earned his monarch’s ire for using his title. “From the Targaryen’s, the Baratheon’s, The Lannisters…”

“And the rules have always been the same?” Jorah questioned. “That if a knight takes the white cloak, he cannot marry, hold lands, or sire children?”

“Definitely the first two,” Sam said, chuckling to himself. “I’m not sure how many stay away from the brothels and whorehouses though.”

“The insistence that these knights cannot marry or sire children, what is the purpose of that?”

It was redundant question as Jorah knew well enough the reasons why the Royal Guard remained unmarried and childless. It was to protect their monarch from any mixed loyalties and to ensure that they remained steadfast and true to the realm.

The subtle questioning was not lost on Davos.

“Permission to speak openly?” He asked of his monarch.

“Of course,” Jorah replied with a smile. “Your counsel is always most welcome.”

“I may be reading between the lines here,” Davos began, stroking his beard in contemplation. “But are you considering scrapping the notion that the Royal Guard take an oath of celibacy?”

The smile on Jorah’s face grew wider as he chuckled.

“That is why I value your role as Hand, Ser,” Jorah replied. “You seem to know what I am thinking almost before I do.”

“If I may ask,” Sam interjected. “What has happened to make you reconsider?”

Jorah grimaced, knowing that he couldn’t tell Sam the truth, in the knowledge that it was the man’s own son that was causing him to consider breaking a tradition that had been in place for hundreds of years. Perhaps it was merely his affection for the boy clouding his judgment.

“I have been considering what benefit it actually brings to have the Royal Guard sworn to celibacy and you have said yourself that they will often find their needs met in a local brothel, and then what happens should they sire a child? That child is born into a life of poverty and possibly abandoned by both its mother and its father.”

It had been several years since education for all children across King’s Landing had been implemented and the changes spread quickly throughout the Seven Kingdoms in the following years, yet there were still far too many people living in poverty for both Jorah and Daenerys’ liking. The wheel of change always turned achingly slowly and while the crown’s coffers had never looked so healthy and there was peace throughout the land, some of the changes he and Daenerys were trying to affect would take decades to bear fruit, meaning that generations of people were still left languishing in poverty and forced to sell themselves or their families to make ends meet.

“There’ll not be any spokes left on this bloody wheel at the rate you keep breaking them,” Davos remarked with a chuckle before adding a perfunctory ‘Your Grace’.

Jorah let the comment slide and straightened his tunic.

“Your thoughts, gentlemen?”

Sam shrugged his shoulders.

“I don’t see the harm in it and in fact it might actually help… A man will fight fiercely if he feels his family is threatened,” Sam said with a smile, one that was mirrored by Jorah - a reminder of the training session where Sam had struck the older man squarely on the jaw and knocked him out.

Davos drummed his fingers as he contemplated the thought.

“I’m guessing they’ll be a few people who won’t agree, but I’m sure you can talk them around to our way of thinking.”

Jorah, whether he liked to admit it or not, was a fine orator and had single-handedly convinced the North to agree to his changes to the education system - a rare feat and one that not many men could match. He was a much better leader than he would ever give himself credit for.

“Sam, I need you to check through any texts you have relating to the Royal Guard and their oaths, I want to make sure that we’re fully prepared should anyone consider arguing the toss with us about this.”

“Aye, Your Grace,”

Sam flinched, waiting for a displeased look that never came. When Jorah took on a project, he took it on with everything he had, and Sam could already see the cogs whirring in the man’s mind as the king focused on his latest task.

“Ser Davos, I’d like you to keep an ear to the ground…sound a few people out about how the changes might be received,” Jorah instructed him. “Speak to no one else of our discussion, not even the queen.”

Sam fidgeted nervously in his seat, the notion of making such plans without the queen’s knowledge was something that didn’t sit well with him. He had no doubt however that whatever Jorah’s reasons for not involving his wife in his plans at the current time were honourable and true. Jorah had proved many times over that he would willingly sacrifice himself to protect his wife and Sam knew it was not his place to question his friend over such matters.

“We’ll reconvene in three day’s time,” Jorah told them before making his way to the door. “Thank you, gentlemen.”

* * *

“And then the bear awoke with a huge RRRRRRRRROOOOOOOAAAAAAAARRRR!” Jorah growled as he picked up his two youngest children, tickling them before carrying Jeorge and Anabaella to their beds as they squealed in delight.

“And what did the brave knight do, Papa?” Jeorge asked. Jorah had told them the same story hundreds of times before, but it seemed as if his youngest son would never grow tired of hearing it.

Jorah tucked Jeorge in gently before doing the same for his twin sister.

“The brave knight stood still in front of the bear. He was afraid but he wouldn’t let the bear see that and so he stood his ground and waited,” Jorah replied before blowing out the candle at his son’s bedside.

“Then what happened?” The boy asked, his eyes growing heavy with sleep.

“The bear lifted his paw and the knight could see that he had a large thorn stuck in it and that the bear couldn’t pull it out by himself.”

“What did the knight do then, Papa?” Annabaella asked as her father kissed her forehead.

“The brave knight put down his sword to show the bear that he meant him no harm and he carefully crept forward and pulled the thorn out, quick as a flash!” Jorah said with panache.

“And the bear?” Annabaella asked sleepily as Jorah blew the last candle out.

“He went back to his cave and the knight went back to his queen having saved the city from the ‘big bad bear’ and everyone lived happily ever after,” Jorah whispered as he backed out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

“The twins are asleep?” Daenerys said, patting the seat next to her, a goblet of water in her hand.

“Aye, they are,” Jorah replied, pulling her toward him so that her head tucked underneath his chin.

“How many times have you told them that story?” She asked as she placed her hand on her husband’s chest, feeling it move as he breathed. Having come so close to losing him at Winterfell, she would never grow tired of the feel of it.

“Enough times that they should be bored of it by now,” he chuckled.

“What on earth will you do when they’re too old for you to tell them bedtime stories?” Daenerys asked playfully.

Jorah let out a dramatic sigh.

“I shall just have to bore you to tears with them instead,” he teased.

Daenerys sat up to look her husband in the eye.

“What would you say if we had more children?”

His eyes widened at the question. They had been intimate many times since the birth of their second set of twins, but Jorah had all but relinquished any hope of them becoming parents again for a third time.

“Are you with child?” Jorah asked, placing an open palm on her stomach. It would go some way to explaining why she had looked so pale and drawn recently.

Daenerys shook her head.

“My body feels different when I am with child and so far…I haven’t felt that.”

“Do you want to be with child again?” Jorah asked, running his fingers through his wife’s soft, white hair.

“Do you want me to be?” She countered.

He kissed her temple.

“Only if that is what you want, it is your body after all.”

It was just one of the many reasons that she loved him, Jorah’s selfless nature when it came to her reminded Daenerys just how lucky she was to be loved by a man like him.

“What has brought this on?” Jorah asked.

Daenerys let out a deep sigh.

“I am past my fortieth name day, perhaps I am just feeling my age.”

The chuckle rumbled in Jorah’s chest.

“Now who is saying that they are too old?” He retorted jovially.

“Will you still love me when I am weak and feeble?” Daenerys asked, her voice tinged with sadness.

“Daenerys Targaryen, I have loved you from the moment I first laid eyes on you and I will love you until my dying breath. The only one who should fear not being loved when they are old and useless is I.”

“I would never leave you,” Daenerys replied. “Never.”

He kissed the side of her head again.

“Just as I would never leave you,” he reassured her. “I’m afraid that you are stuck with me for the rest of our days.”

She clung a little tighter to him then, knowing that there was nowhere else she would rather be than by his side, whatever life may hold in store for them.


	4. The King And His Coin

“Another message from Tyrion and the Prince of Dorne arrived this morning,” Jorah said, placing a cloak around his wife’s shoulders. They would be expected in the throne room shortly to receive petitions from the smallfolk of King’s Landing and beyond.

Daenerys let out a weary sigh, her face still pale and drawn. No matter how much she rested, she could not seem to shake the feeling of fatigue gnawing at her bones.

“And what do they have to say for themselves this time?’ She asked, testily.

“They have implied that the Prince’s eldest daughter Arianne is now old enough to be betrothed to a suitable young man.”

Daenerys picked up on the hidden meaning immediately.

“And the Prince believes Aeron, the future king of Westeros, would be a suitable match?”

Jorah rubbed ruefully at his chin.

“Aye, Khaleesi,” he replied.

“I suppose we knew this day would come…eventually,” Daenerys said after a moment’s pause. “Now that both Aeron and Rhaena are coming of age, it would seem as if every House in the Seven Kingdoms wishes to make a marriage alliance with us.”

“The Prince will expect an answer from us soon,” Jorah said as they left their quarters, flanked by Missandei and Grey Worm. “To not reply once is careless…but three times would send a clear message to the Prince, one that he will take as an insult.”

“I despise all of this political manoeuvring,” Daenerys growled. Both she and Jorah knew that they could speak freely within earshot of Missandei and Grey Worm and that the two of them would never betray their confidence. 

“So do I,” Jorah replied. “We must, however, answer him sooner rather than later or else we risk enmity with Dorne.”

“We shall discuss it this evening,” Daenerys decided as they reached the throne room to find several of the Royal Guard and Ser Davos already in attendance.

Daenerys took her place on the Iron Throne as her husband sat beside her on a sturdy wooden chair of his own.

Jorah couldn’t help but cast a worried look in his wife’s direction but had no time to ask of her wellbeing before the first visitor was brought before them.

* * *

“I think it is time that we took a break,” Jorah suggested, casting another worried look at his wife. He could see the thin sheet of sweat on her brow and the rosiness of her cheeks. “Missandei, please escort the Queen back to our quarters,” Jorah instructed his wife’s handmaiden.

Daenerys put her hand up to stop Missandei as she approached.

“I am fine,” she insisted. “I am merely feeling a little off. It is hot and stuffy in here…all I need is a drink of water.”

Jorah frowned.

“You have not been well for several days now, Khaleesi.”

The look Daenerys shot him left Jorah in no doubt that his wife would voice her displeasure at him later, but for now his main concern was the wellbeing of the woman he loved.

“Please,” he implored her, “indulge this worried old fool?”

“But we have not finished with our morning’s audience,” Daenerys argued, feeling beyond weary.

“I am sure that between Ser Davos and I we can manage,” Jorah reassured her. “Please, Khaleesi…for me?”

She never could resist her husband when he looked at her with those soulful blue eyes of his. He asked for so little from her and yet gave her all of him in return. She would indulge him, just this once.

Jorah stood as Daenerys lifted herself from the Iron Throne, kissing her on the cheek and nodding to Missandei to escort the queen from the room.

“Ser Davos?” Jorah said quietly as soon as his wife’s back was turned. 

“Yes, Your Grace?”

“Have Maester Tarly visit our quarters this morning, would you?”

Davos nodded and spoke to one of the White Cloaks guarding the doors to the throne room before instructing the next visitor to stand before their monarch.

A few minutes later, a man and a woman holding a tiny infant shuffled into the room and towards the steps that led to the Iron Throne, which had remained empty in Daenerys’ absence. Much to his wife’s displeasure, Jorah refused to sit on the chair in her absence, claiming that it was his wife’s alone.

“Thank you for seeing us, Your Grace,” the man said, keeping his head bowed.

“What is it that we can do for you today?” Jorah asked kindly, watching the baby as it wriggled in its mother’s arms.

“I am a farmer and my wife a dressmaker and we have always made enough coin to help us get through the lean winter months…but this year’s crops were ruined when someone spilled tar onto my soil and now we don’t have enough coin or food to feed our young son.”

“Why did someone ruin your crops?” Jorah asked as he stroked his beard.

“There is a merchant that has come across from the East and he has been buying up farms and running us lesser folk out of business. He asked to buy my land and I refused and then a few days later I woke to find all my crops were destroyed.”

“This merchant, does he have a name?”

“Trego Mysaria, Your Grace,” the man answered before elbowing his wife as the baby began to wail.

“How old is your child?”

“Just three months, Your Grace,” the woman answered, her eyes firmly on the ground.

“Does he have a name?”

The woman shook her head. “We are yet to decide,” she replied.

Jorah made his way down the steps, holding his hands out, much to the surprise of everyone in the room.

“May I?” He asked, gesturing to the baby who had continued to wriggle and cry in his mother’s arms.

Still in a state of shock, the woman handed her child to the king.

“Well, he has a fine set of lungs on him, that’s for sure,” Jorah remarked with a grin as he cradled the small child in his arms, who within a matter of moments had settled and began burbling, staring up at the man holding him. “I’m sure he’ll grow up to be a strapping young lad,” he said as he handed the child back to its mother.

Jorah glanced across to Ser Davos who was looking at him with some surprise.

“Please make sure that these folk have enough food to help them get through winter and in the spring ensure they have fertile land to grow their crops upon.”

Davos nodded his head, a knowing smile on his face.

“Aye, Your Grace. We’ll make sure that it is done.”

“You…you are most kind,” the farmer said, his eyes full of tears. “You are far too generous, Your Grace.”

Jorah reached into the pocket of his tunic and pulled out a gold coin, placing it in the farmer’s hand before closing the man’s fingers around it.

“A wise man once gave me that coin in the hopes that it would bring me luck. I have been far more fortunate than any man has a right to be,” Jorah said as he walked back to his chair and sat on it. “I hope the coin brings good fortune to you and your family too.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” the farmer said as he and his wife began backing away from their king.

“We have decided on a name, Your Grace,” the woman said as she looked down, smiling at her baby boy. “We shall call him Jorah.”

* * *

“This is most unnecessary,” Daenerys said as Maester Samwell Tarly hovered around her. “I can assure you that I am quite alright.”

“How long have you been feeling unwell?” Sam asked, undeterred.

“Several days now,” Missandei answered, receiving a withering glare from her queen. “She has been pale and drawn and has been feeling quite hot at times.”

Missandei knew her queen would have words with her later, but the woman was almost as stubborn as her husband when it came to matters of her own wellbeing.

“Hmmm,” Sam said, looking through his satchel of potions and remedies. “And when was your last moon’s blood?” He asked, picking out a vial of clear-coloured liquid.

Daenerys blushed.

“A few weeks ago…it was heavier than usual. I’m still experiencing some spotting,” she admitted quietly.

“And you don’t feel as if you are with child?”

Daenerys shook her head.

“When was the last time you had intercourse?”

The way Sam asked made it sound as if it were the most natural question in the world. The young maester was so far removed from the nervous young man she’d first known that he was almost unrecognisable.

“Four days ago,” Daenerys replied, her cheeks reddening once more.

“Did you experience any pain before, during, or after?”

The shocked look on Daenerys’s face caused Missandei to break her normally serious facade and smile.

_No, only pleasure…_ Daenerys thought to herself. Jorah had always known just what to do to make her come undone.

Daenerys shook her head.

“I have been experiencing some cramping every now and then.”

Sam nodded as he scribbled notes on a piece of parchment.

“How long have you been experiencing these cramps?”

“For a few months,” Daenerys replied. “They have become worse recently,” she admitted.

“Any loss of appetite?”

Daenerys nodded. “Over the last few days, yes.”

“Any nausea?”

“A little.”

“Have you felt fatigued or had a loss of energy?”

Daenerys nodded.

“Any sweating or feeling flushed?”

Again, Daenerys nodded.

“Hmmm,” Sam said as he scribbled on the parchment and then packed his tools away.

“Do you know what it might be?” Daenerys asked.

“I have an idea,” Sam answered, “but I need to consult some of my books before I make a clear diagnosis. In the meantime, I recommend that you take things easy, Your Grace. I’m sure that King Jorah will be more than willing to take on your duties for the next few days.”

“Will you speak of this to Jorah?” Daenerys asked the maester.

Sam shook his head.

“It is not my place to and the oath I swore means I cannot tell him anything unless you wish me to. Would you like me to tell him, Your Grace?”

“No,” Daenerys said quickly and more tersely than she’d intended. Her tone softened. “I do not want to worry him until we know for sure what we are dealing with. He frets about me far too much as it is.”

“As you wish, Your Grace,” Sam replied, bowing slightly and leaving the room, but not before Daenerys called out to thank him for his services.

“I will return as soon as I am confident that we have a diagnosis. Until then, I recommend that you rest as much as possible,” he said as he closed the door behind him.

Concerned for what the future might hold, Daenerys could do nothing but wait.


	5. The Benefit Of The Doubt

King Jorah Mormont sat in a throne room that felt decidedly emptier without his wife by his side. Daenerys had been restless throughout the night and Jorah insisted that she stay within their quarters to rest. Perhaps it was a testament to how unwell she felt that she barely argued the point and instead nodded and returned to their bed.

Before making his way to the throne room, he sent for Samwell Tarly to attend to Daenerys in their quarters with an eye on asking the young maester as to the nature of his wife’s illness. He and Daenerys had been together for long enough to know when the other was hiding something and Jorah would have questioned her further on it had there not been so many royal duties to undertake.

A reply had been sent to the Prince of Dorne’s third communication with an offer of the Prince and his daughter Arianne visiting King’s Landing soon. As loathe as Jorah was to agree, it would at least keep their Dornish neighbours happy for a while longer yet.

After discussing it with Daenerys, they agreed that there would be no harm in Aeron and the young girl meeting and there was a chance that the two of them might strike up a friendship that would grow into something more. However, both of them were determined that none of their four children would ever be forced into a marriage for the sake of politics.

It was Daenerys who had twice been forced to marry for something other than love and while she had grown to care for Drogo, Jorah was the only man that she had ever truly loved. As much as Tyrion had advised her against marrying the shamed former Lord of Bear Island, she had refused his counsel and listened to her heart instead.

It was the best decision that Daenerys had ever made and one that she would never regret, not even for a second.

No doubt that the Prince of Dorne and Tyrion would arrive soon, and Jorah was convinced that the conniving little imp was probably behind the manoeuvre in the first place. Tyrion did not take well to being deposed from his position of Hand to the Queen of Westeros, but it was a downfall of his own making when his political plotting backfired on him spectacularly. Tyrion was nothing if not a shrewd man and one to not take such insults lightly. Jorah knew that Tyrion had the Prince’s ear and had likely whispered fanciful notions of the Prince’s daughter being married to the future king of Westeros.

It would be food for thought for another day, though, as Ser Davos brought in the first visitor to be placed before their king, surprised to find two White Cloaks dragging a dishevelled man before him. The dark-haired, bearded stranger protested his innocence as the knights dragged him forward.

“What is the meaning of this?” Jorah asked, sitting on his chair next to the empty Iron Throne.

“This man was arrested for hitting a woman at an inn near the keep, Your Grace,” one of the knights said as the man continued to struggle. “His wife, no less!”

“I told you, it was an accident!” The prisoner said. “I never meant to hit her!”

“We shall take him to the cells, Your Grace,” the knight on the opposite side of the man said. “We’ll have Ser Mandely cut off the hand he struck the woman with,” he said confidently. “That should teach him a lesson.”

The knights turned to drag their prisoner back the way they came before Jorah called out to them.

“Halt,” he said, holding a hand up. “Let the man explain himself.”

Shocked, the knights brought the man back, forcing him to kneel in front of the steps that led to the Iron Throne.

“What is your name?” Jorah asked the man.

The man kept his head bowed, not daring to look at his king.

“Harris, Your Grace,” the man stuttered.

“Tell me what happened, in your own words.”

Still the man dared not look at his king.

“My daughter has been staying out after dark of late, Your Grace…and now that she’s of age I had a feeling that she was seeing some young boy and so I visited all of the inns that I could think of looking for her. I eventually found her…but the young man she was with was being rough with her, Your Grace…and so I pulled the boy off of her and he started throwing punches at me. We fought for a while and someone put their hand on my shoulder just as I was about to strike the boy again…my elbow caught my wife in the face…”

“It is no doubt all lies,” one of the knights said. “he probably got drunk and when his wife came to drag him home…well, he didn’t like being told what to do.”

“And you have evidence of this?” Jorah asked the knight sternly who began stammering nervously.

“Not in so many words, Your Grace.”

“Then how do you know that this man is not telling the truth?”

“The city is full of men like him,” the other knight said. “Men who like to beat their wives and children.”

“Have you ever been arrested before, Harris?” Jorah asked the man.

Harris shook his head.

“Never, Your Grace. I am just a humble baker who worries about his daughter.”

Jorah leaned back in his chair and considered Harris’ words for several minutes before making his decision. Had it been Rhaena or Anabaella…he would have killed any man who dare touch them.

“Ser Frederick, you are to release this man and allow him to return to his family,” Jorah instructed before turning his attention to the knight on the other side of the still trembling baker. “Ser Wallace, return to the inn and speak to anyone who saw the altercation and who can verify if that what this man says is true."

“Aye, Your Grace,” both knights said in unison as Harris was released from his shackles.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, Your Grace,” Harris wept as the last of the chains around him were removed. “You are most kind and lenient.”

“Do not mistake my benevolence for weakness,” Jorah cautioned the man. “If I find that you have lied to me, I will ensure that you will receive a punishment worthy of such an offence and I will be neither kind nor lenient should I have to bring forth such a sentence, is that clear?”

Harris nodded.

“Yes…yes, Your Grace.”

“If you have been untruthful and you try to run from justice, I will have my men track you down and you will feel the full force of my wrath. I am giving you the benefit of the doubt, do not make me regret offering you such a gift.”

Harris bowed and nodded his head.

“Thank you, Your Grace. I swear I will not let you down.”

“Be sure that you don’t,” Jorah warned. “Ser Frederick, please escort this man back to his home.”

As the throne room emptied once more, Ser Davos gave his king a knowing smile - one that Jorah was quick to pick up on.

“Something you wish to say, Ser Davos?” Giving his friend a wry grin. 

Despite the fact that Jorah was now King of Westeros, he was quick to ensure that the people around him treated him no differently due to his substantial position. He had reluctantly accepted the coronation as king and had no desire to be treated as a man to be feared, especially when it came to his family and closest friends.

Davos chuckled to himself before answering.

“For a man who thought he’d never be good enough to be a lord, let alone a king, you’re doing a bloody good job of being one.”

Jorah rolled his eyes and let out a tired sigh, ignoring his friend’s teasing.

“Have the next visitor brought in, Ser Davos.”

“As you wish, Your Grace,” Ser Davos replied, knowing that using the man’s title would needle him even further.

* * *

“I shall say it again, Sam,” Daenerys began as she saw Maester Tarly hovering in the doorway to her quarters. “There is no need for such a fuss. Jorah has wasted your time, I’m afraid.”

“Are you feeling any better, Your Grace?” Sam asked, satchel in hand as he shuffled into the living area. “King Jorah asked me to visit you. He says that you didn’t sleep well last night.”

“King Jorah says far too much,” Daenerys replied tersely.

“He is worried about you, Your Grace, as am I,” Missandei said as she stood in the corner of the room. “We are concerned that you do not appear to be well and have not been so for many days.”

Daenerys sighed, realising that she would be fighting a losing battle with both her husband and her closest friend joining forces to coddle her into submission when it came to her health. 

“I have been doing some research, Your Grace,” Sam said as he placed his satchel on the table and pulled out a handful of papers. “From everything I’ve read about your symptoms I am almost certain that what you are feeling is entirely natural for a woman of your years.”

Already feeling tired and emotional, Daenerys shot a withering stare at the maester.

“A woman of my years - what is that supposed to mean?”

Sam stuttered slightly. “Well….Your Grace….when a woman gets to a certain…age in life…the body starts changing and signifies that she is no longer able to…to…to…”

”Spit it out, Sam,” Daenerys said tersely.

“You’re going through a change that means you won’t be able to have any further children, Your Grace…not of your own blood, anyway.”

Daenerys took her time to assimilate the maester’s words.

“I see…thank you for your honesty, Sam.”

“Are you sure that is correct, Maester Tarly?” Missandei asked.

Sam nodded his head.

“All of the symptoms match the ones in my books,” he replied before pulling out several vials of coloured liquids. “I’ve prepared some remedies which should help with the fatigue and cramping,” he said as he walked timidly towards his queen.

Still trying to take the news in, Daenerys motioned for the maester and her handmaiden to leave her.

“I shall send for you if needed, Missandei,” she said to her friend, “but for now I would like to spend some time on my own.”


	6. Adult Conversations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the rubbish chapter title (I couldn't think of another one) so apologies if you're expecting rampant bonking in this chapter...

It was the simple domestic moments that Daenerys enjoyed so much, with just her husband and children chattering around the dinner table and it saddened her to think that once all of their children were adults, they would never share moments like these again.

Daenerys had sat alone in their quarters for most of the afternoon, debating as to how to break the news to Jorah that they would likely never conceive another child. The negative voice in her head told her that Jorah would be disappointed, although they had both believed her to be infertile when they married all those years ago, surely Jorah would feel no differently now?

Of course he wouldn’t. Jorah was the only man who had loved her selflessly. His love didn’t come with exceptions and clauses, it only came with the promise that he would move heaven and earth to make her happy. He wanted nothing in return from her except whatever love she was willing to give.

She caught him giving her several worried glances throughout their evening meal and it was fortunate that Jeorge, so usually a timid boy, was excitedly telling everyone how he had shot his first arrow with a bow today. Even though Aeron and Rhaena were older, they often indulged their younger siblings and listened eagerly to whatever they were talking about, teasing them gently until their laughter filled the room.

She was still annoyed with Jorah for calling Sam Tarly to their quarters again, but at least the maester had given her an answer to the symptoms she’d been experiencing lately. However unwelcome the news was, it was a relief to know that it was just a natural part of ageing.

It was the thought of ageing that was such a bitter potion for Daenerys to swallow and it was the first time that she was faced with her own mortality. Being the rightful queen of Westeros, she was accustomed to having things her own way, so to have the choice of bearing further children taken away put her in a dour mood before her children and husband returned to their quarters in the late afternoon.

“We’ll be having a visit from the Prince of Dorne and his daughter Arriane soon,” Jorah told his eldest son as he wiped at his mouth with a napkin. 

Aeron nodded as he spooned more desert into his mouth.

“How would you feel about spending some time with her?” Jorah prodded.

Aeron shrugged his shoulders, continuing to shovel the fruity pudding into his mouth.

“Ok, I suppose,” Aeron finally answered. “Will Rhaena be spending time with her too?”

Daenerys smiled as her husband cleared his throat nervously. 

How on earth would he explain to a twelve year old that he might have to marry a girl he’d only just met?

“Of course,” Jorah answered. “I am sure that Arianne would like to spend time with both of you, especially considering that your mother and I will have much to discuss with her father too.”

Aeron nodded his head again, seemingly unaware of what his father was trying to say.

It didn't escape Rhaena though.

“Father means that they will be talking politics and all sorts of boring things. He wants us to play with Arianne instead.”

Aeron shrugged his shoulders. He was far removed from the impatient little boy he’d been and instead had mellowed considerably now he was nearing his teenage years. It appeared that very little fazed the boy who would one day be king.

“We can show her around the keep and all the best hiding places,” Aeron finally replied after finishing his desert.

“Hmmm,” Jorah said, placing his elbows on the table and looking at his two eldest children. “How about you show your father these hiding places that you’re so fond of?”

It was Annabaella who caught everyone by surprise by rolling her eyes and telling her father, “Because you would never fit in any of them, Papa,” she said with all the seriousness an eight year old girl could muster - her parents couldn’t help but laugh.

“Aeron, Rhaena,” Jorah said as he returned his attention back to his two eldest children. “Please make sure your brother and sister wash their faces and go to bed. Your mother and I have some things we need to discuss.”

It was Annabaella again who chirped up.

“It means they are going to do gross things like kissing,” the little girl said as she pulled a face.

“Children,” Jorah said with a hint of exasperation in his voice as the four of them clambered to their feet and rushed out of the room.

Daenerys gazed upon her husband, admiring the way he had taken to parenting as if it were the easiest thing in the world. Perhaps some people were natural parents and it made what she needed to tell him all the harder to put into words.

“Sam came to see me again today,” Daenerys said, making her way to their bedroom.

Jorah had the good grace to look slightly chastened at his wife’s tone.

“I am worried about you, Khaleesi,” he said, unfastening the top two buttons of his tunic. “You have not been yourself recently.”

Daenerys ran a tired hand through her hair as she began to undo the braids that Missandei had so carefully weaved that morning.

“There is nothing to be concerned about,” she replied, running a brush through her long, white hair. “I am not unwell.”

“But the cramps, the restlessness,” Jorah continued. “Surely that is not natural.”

“Apparently it is…for a woman of my age,” she said with a sigh.

Jorah scratched at his beard.

“I’m not sure that I follow.”

“According to Sam, my body is of an age where it can longer carry a child, even if I wanted it to.”

Jorah made his way over to the bed and sat down next to his wife.

“I see,” he said after a moment’s pause.

“I am sorry, Jorah,” Daenerys said, her voice barely a whisper.

He tipped her chin gently so that she had no choice but to look at him.

“Why are you sorry?”

Tears welled in her eyes.

“That I cannot give you more children,” she replied, cursing the change in her body for her volatile emotions recently - another thing that Sam had assured her was natural ‘given her circumstances’.

He kissed the tip of her nose before leaning his forehead against hers.

“Daenerys, I do not care about that. It is not important to me,” he tried to reassure her.

“But you are such a good father, what happens when the children are old enough to not need us anymore?”

He kissed her lips softly.

“I would hope that we would always need one another,” he replied.

She returned his kiss with one of her own.

“Always,’ she said, looking him in the eye.

“Besides,” he said, pulling her to his side and kissing the top of her head. “I am getting far too old to crawl around on my hands and knees chasing after infants anymore. This old bear can hardly get out of bed without some part of his body creaking and cracking.”

He was teasing of course. Jorah Mormont, the man who withstood punishment during the Long Night that would have killed lesser men, could never be considered too old for anything, no matter the passing of years, the increasing laughter lines on his face, nor the grey in his hair.

“You have the stamina and strength of ten mainlanders,” she reminded him with a smile. “I am sure you could deal with another infant or two at your feet.”

He rested his cheek on the top of her head.

“Would you think less of me if I said that four children is enough?”

She turned to look at him, placing her hand on his cheek.

“Of course not,” she replied. “I’m happy with it being just the six of us.”

“That sounds like rather a lot when you add it all together,” Jorah chuckled. “I think it’s best we stop at that, otherwise we’d need to build a bigger keep with larger quarters.”

“Could the crown meet such a cost?” Daenerys asked, her tone playful.

“Not if Tyrion and the Prince of Dorne have their way and marry our eldest son off in a lavish ceremony,” Jorah joked.

“We won’t force Aeron to do anything he doesn’t want too, will we?” Daenerys asked her husband.

“No, we will not,” he replied. “Aeron shall marry for love, just as we did.”

“And what if that offends the Prince?”

“He should know by now that we enjoy breaking the wheel. He’ll just have to accept it if Aeron doesn’t want to marry his daughter.”

“You know Tyrion is behind this, don’t you?” Daenerys said.

Jorah let out a humourless huff.

“Oh, I don’t doubt it, the little shit.”

“And what if the Prince does not take well to the news that our son does not return his daughter’s affections?”

“Then I shall just have to challenge him to a duel instead,” Jorah replied with a hint of amusement.

She slapped him playfully on the arm.

“You shall do no such thing, Jorah Mormont.”

His face turned serious once more as he kissed his wife on the lips.

“I will never give up fighting for you, or our children,” he told her earnestly. “Whatever happens.”

“And neither will I,” she reassured him. “Come, let us get ready for bed and you can show me more of this fabled stamina of yours…”


	7. Reap What You Sow

“Ser Davos, please bring the next visitor in,” Daenerys instructed her Hand as she sat on the Iron Throne with her husband beside her.

It was the first time in several days that she had been able to take an audience and now that Sam had diagnosed her ‘condition,’ he had also been able to recommend a number of tinctures that would help with the symptoms she was experiencing.

Over breakfast, Daenerys informed her husband that she was ready to return to her duties and the look on his face was one of relief. Despite holding the title of King for many years now, Jorah’s self-doubt would mean that he would always second guess his own decisions.

For every major decision he had taken in his wife’s absence, Jorah always made sure to talk each one over with her. They had been together for so many years now that they instinctively knew each other's thoughts and rarely disagreed on matters of the realm. Even if they did, their disagreements were held in the privacy of their quarters and not in the throne room in front of their people.

Daenerys raised an eyebrow as an extravagantly dressed merchant was dragged into the room by two Royal Guards.

“Take your hands off of me, you dirty pigs,” the merchant said with a heavy Eastern accent, spitting at the two men dragging him before the king and queen of Westeros.

“Trego Mysaria, Your Graces,” Ser Harold proclaimed proudly as he and the follow knight pushed the merchant to his knees.

“You are a hard man to find,” Daenerys said as the merchant continued to struggle.

“What is the meaning of this?” Trego spat. “Is this how you welcome all travellers?”

“Only the ones who have no regard for our laws,” Jorah replied, looking the merchant up and down. 

Trego Mysaria stood before them, dripping with gold and jewels and clothes made from the finest materials. The merchant was a man who appeared to have significant wealth.

“I am not bound by your laws,” Trego shot back.

“You are when you are upon our lands, merchant,” Daenerys said, leaning forwards slightly to get a better look at him. It was then that she saw the gold adorning his teeth, no doubt made from the coin that he had gained by putting the farmers of King’s Landing out of business.

“I am merely a merchant who is looking to sell his wares,” Trego replied. “I cannot help it if your own people are unable to meet the demands that I am currently fulfilling.”

Daenerys glanced at her husband as he nodded his head. 

“The only reason you are able to is because you have sabotaged your competitors. We will not tolerate such behaviour on our lands.”

For the first time, the merchant began to show a level of fear.

“Then send me on a ship back to Essos and you will never see me again.”

Daenerys narrowed her eyes.

“I am afraid it is too late for that. We cannot be seen to tolerate such blatant disregard for the laws of Westeros. You will be made an example of, merchant.”

Ser Harold and his fellow knight held Trego tighter as he began to squirm.

“You cannot do this!” He exclaimed. “This is unjust!”

“No, destroying the farmlands of our people is unjust,” Jorah replied. “You should know better than anyone that a man will always reap what he sows.”

Trego trembled.

“You would put me to death?”

Jorah brought his hands together and studied the merchant for a number of moments.

“You have a choice, merchant. Either repay everything you owe to the people whose lands you sabotaged or spend the rest of your days locked in a cell, only leaving to work on the fields and lands that you took from our people. You will receive no coin, but we will spare you your life.”

“And if I refuse to do either?” The merchant asked.

“Then you will be executed and your remains thrown into the sea,” Daenerys answered.

Had she had her own way, she would execute the merchant and leave his body to rot off Blackwater Bay, but Jorah had suggested an alternative that would not only be seen as an act of benevolence, but also a clear indication to any other merchants landing upon their shores that such actions would not be tolerated in Westeros. If she truly did have a gentle heart, as Jorah had told her all those years ago, his calming influence on her had much to do with it.

Trego looked around, seeking any opportunity to escape from the room and flee from justice.

“Make your decision, merchant,” Daenerys commanded. “Or it will be made for you.”

“I cannot pay back everything I owe,” Trego responded. “Would you allow me to return to Essos to collect the rest?”

“Do not take us for fools,” Jorah growled. “If you run, you will be hunted down and executed.” Jorah glanced at Ser Harold. “Take him to the cells,” he instructed. “Give him suitable clothing to wear.” He turned his attention back to the merchant. “Silk gowns are not suitable attire for a labourer. Get him out of our sight.”

* * *

The day’s audiences had lasted several hours and both Jorah and Daenerys were relieved when their duties were finally done for the day.

After kissing his wife goodbye as she followed Missandei to collect the children and take them back to their quarters, Jorah stayed behind in the throne room to speak with Ser Davos and Maester Samwell Tarly.

Jorah had sent his squire, the younger Sam Tarly off on an errand. Jorah did not want the young man overhearing the conversation he was about to have with Ser Davos and his father.

“Sam, what have you found?” Jorah asked, running a tired hand over his beard.

“Much as we suspected, the Royal Guard were banned from taking a wife or holding any lands upon swearing their oath to the realm. That way, their honour and loyalty could not come into question.”

Davos smirked. “Well, that hardly stopped Jaime Lannister, did it?”

Jorah gave his Hand a wan smile.

“Aye, that is true enough.”

“All of the texts that I’ve read say the same thing - that the Royal Guards should live a life of celibacy.”

The way Sam had said it made it obvious that he had more to say.

“But?” Jorah prompted.

“Half of the wars Westeros has seen throughout the centuries were started because a man couldn’t keep his cock in his trousers,” Sam answered.

Jorah laughed, once again reminded that Sam was no longer the callow youth he had been when he first met him at the Citadel. Long gone were the days when Sam could be reduced to a nervous wreck with a harsh word from another.

Jorah stroked his beard in contemplation. “So you’re saying that any knight who takes the oath is merely paying lip service to their monarch?” 

“Aye,” Davos answered. “And then likely putting those same lips somewhere else entirely.”

Jorah was no green young boy; he knew exactly what Ser Davos meant.

“And if we were to abolish the law entirely…allow the Royal Guards to take a wife and have a family?”

“There might be a few eyebrows raised for a while,” Davos answered. “And of course our dear friend Lady Sansa in the North may have something to say about it, especially if this comes back to bite us in the arse.”

Jorah let out a humourless huff.

“One parley with Lady Stark is enough to last me a lifetime. I have no desire to repeat the experience,” Jorah replied.

After the summit in King’s Landing to discuss the North’s support of education for all, Lady Sansa Stark had returned to Winterfell empty-handed, her political coup backfiring and ensconcing Jorah as King of Westeros, further strengthening the political power of Daenerys Targaryen - a woman Sansa could barely tolerate, let alone trust.

“Ser Davos,” Jorah began as he sat down heavily on his chair beside the Iron Throne. “Is this a situation you believe we can handle, politically speaking?”

Davos strengthened his posture, standing tall and exuding a quiet confidence.

“It might ruffle a few feathers, but I’m certain that it’ll ensure the Royal Guards are loyal to the crown. No man fights harder than when his family are at stake. It’ll give the small folk even more reason to love their monarch.”

“You know, I’ve been keeping a journal for some years now,” Sam piped up, “and from everything I’ve read of those who have come before, the reign of Queen Daenerys and King Jorah will no doubt be remembered as the most significant of them all.”

Jorah squirmed at the apparent praise from the maester.

“Queen Daenerys was born to rule Westeros,” Jorah replied. “It is not only her birth right, it is her destiny to unite the Seven Kingdoms.”

“Do you think that she could ever have done it without you?” Sam questioned. The young man was clearly in one of his ‘sermon’ modes when it came to lecturing his friend and king.

“Sam,” he cautioned in a warning tone. “It’s been a long and tiring day and I am in no mood for one of your rallying speeches,” Jorah said as he stood and made his way across the throne room.

“Ok, then,” the maester replied, “I’ll save it for tomorrow evening when you come to ours for dinner then.”

Jorah heard Sam and Davos laugh as he left the room, shaking his head and knowing that before he could even think about putting the wheels in motion to bring about such a change to the laws of Westeros, he would need to convince his wife of the benefits that such a change would make first.


	8. The Twist of Fate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's two for the price of one this week!

_“You are Daenerys Targaryen,” the female voice said._

_Daenerys turned slowly, coming face to face with a woman who wore a strange-looking mask across her face._

_“Who wants to know?” Daenerys answered coolly._

_The mysterious woman’s eyes bore into her as they stood facing one another, ignoring the traders and customers flitting from stall to stall around them._

_“I do not expect you to know who I am,” the stranger said. “The fates have called me here to speak with you.”_

_“Then what do you want from me?” Daenerys asked tiredly._

_The masked woman looked over her shoulder, motioning for Daenerys to follow her to a quieter area before answering her question._

_“I come from a different place and time in which the passing of years and the winds of fate have not been so kind to you.”_

_Daenerys pursed her lips._

_“You expect me to believe you’re some sort of witch or a time traveller? I can assure you that there are no such things.”_

_The woman shook her head once more._

_“The witch did not save your husband or your child. You believed the death of your son was the price you paid to keep the Khal by your side. You were mistaken.”_

_“You are a charlatan. A fake!” Daenerys exclaimed._

_“You must know that the price you paid is of great consequence, as it has been for hundreds of years.”_

_“You are making no sense,” Daenerys said, bringing a hand to her forehead in an effort to ease the tension she felt there._

_“The price you paid to save the Khal’s life was that of the man who loved you the most. The man who chose his love for you over the love of his home. The man whose bed you currently share.”_

_How could this woman know so much about her?_

_“For centuries, you will be fated to repeat the same cycle. Life after life, year after year, the man who means the most to you will be taken from you."_

_“You mean to say that we are cursed?” Daenerys asked, her mouth suddenly going dry at thought that she could lose Jorah so easily._

_“Your dreams are memories of past and future lives,” the masked woman explained. “They are not figments of your imagination; they are slivers of the many cycles you are fated to repeat. No matter what you do, no matter the path you choose, he will always be taken from you.”_

_“Then what do we do?” Daenerys asked desperately._

_“That I do not know, Daenerys Targaryen,” the masked woman answered. “You must find a way to break the curse or you will be fated to repeat the cycle…forever."_

Jorah shook his wife’s shoulder as she thrashed in the bed. He had no idea what she was dreaming of and could only pick up a few vague words here and there.

“Daenerys,” he said again, louder this time. “Daenerys, wake up!”

She sat up, gasping for air, tears streaming down her face as she looked at her husband. The look she was giving him began to unnerve Jorah. Suddenly, she threw herself into his arms as the tremors wracked her body.

“You’re here?” She said, her voice shaking as she lifted a hand to caress his cheek.

“I am right here, Khaleesi,” he said, kissing her palm. “You’re safe.”

He’d intended his to words to be soothing. They seemed to have the opposite effect as she burst into tears.

Jorah knew that the changes to Daenerys’ body were wreaking havoc with her emotional equilibrium, but whatever she dreamed of was haunting her still.

“I lost you,” she said through her tears.

He pulled her into his arms.

“I will never leave you,” he told her. “Never.”

“You won’t have a choice!” She insisted, her voice rising.

He looked at her, his eyes full of concern.

“Khaleesi, you are not making any sense.”

Daenerys took several deep breaths, each one bringing her closer to reality and further from her dream. “Mirri Maz Duur,” she began, “it was not Rhaego’s life I paid with, it was yours.”

He kissed the top of her head.

“Shhhh,” he said, trying to reassure her. “It was a bad dream, nothing more.”

“But it seemed so real.”

He gently took her hand and brought it to his lips. “This is real.” He placed her hand over his heart. “This is real,” he said as she felt his chest rise and fall beneath her palm. 

“I can’t lose you,” Daenerys said as she felt her husband guide her weary body back towards the pillows. “Please,” she begged, “don’t ever leave me.”

He brought her closer to his chest, wrapping his arms around her as if his limbs alone could protect her from her dreams.

“I will fight every last man to stay by your side, Daenerys. Only death will separate us.”

And that, more than anything, was the thing Daenerys feared the most.

* * *

It did not escape Jorah’s attention that his wife was quiet and pensive when they broke their fast as a family. No doubt the dream that had woken during the night was still preying on her mind.

He had watched over her for an hour, determined to wake her if the nightmare returned, until his own eyes grew heavy and he fell asleep himself, only to be woken several hours later by their excitable children who seemed determined to bang on every door and surface of their quarters at such an ungodly and early hour.

“The Prince of Dorne is due to arrive with his retinue this morning,” Jorah said, shooing their four children towards the door of their quarters, all of them chattering in the carefree way of the young and the innocent.

Daenerys merely nodded her head.

“If you are not feeling well,” Jorah began, hoping that it would spark a feisty response from his wife. Even her ire would be better than the vacant and distant mood she currently seemed to be in.

She raised her eyes to look at him.

“I will be there to welcome him to King’s Landing once again,” she replied. “I’m sure you will have your hands full with your latest project.”

Jorah gave her a rueful smile.

After putting the children to bed the night before, Jorah had nervously and hesitantly confessed to having asked Samwell Tarly and Ser Davos Seaworth to consider tearing up the rules of the Royal Guards and bringing about further political changes.

Jorah had believed that his wife would be irked that he had kept his plans from her for so long and thus expected a lengthy tirade from her. Although they had been married for many years, the dragon inside Daenerys still remained and could be woken at a moment’s notice.

Instead of berating him, Jorah was surprised when she merely smiled and gave her blessing to his plans.

“And to think that you were the one to tell me that I had a gentle heart,” she had said before kissing him. “Much more of this and folk will fail to see you as a grumpy old bear.”

“I do not want people to think I am weak,” he told her in response.

“Having a gentle heart is not the same as being weak, Jorah,” she had reassured him. “Anyone who thinks differently is a fool.”

Jeorge pulled impatiently on his father’s hand to gain his attention.

“Come, Papa,” he said, bouncing up and down, eager to escape the confines of the family quarters.

Jorah gave his wife a reassuring smile, “I will join you as soon as I can,” he told her as he picked up his two youngest children, carrying one under each arm as they squealed happily. Their elder siblings Aeron and Rhaena rolled their eyes and followed their father from the room, giving Daenerys a precious few moments to collect herself before Missandei arrived to braid her hair and help ready her for what would likely be another long day ahead.


	9. Best Laid Plans

“Ah, he joins us at last!” Tyrion Lannister called out as Jorah entered the throne room, his squire Sam Tarly walking alongside him. The young man’s eyes narrowing with suspicion as they focused on the dwarf.

Despite the fact that Jorah was now King of Westeros, it seemed that Tyrion was more determined than ever to needle his old adversary.

“Tyrion,” Jorah growled, approaching his wife’s side.

The Imp took another swig of wine from his goblet.

“Your Grace,” Tyrion replied with a wicked glint in his eye. He shook his head. “Nope, I still can’t say that sounds right,” he said to himself, swallowing yet more wine.

“Come, we are all friends here, are we not?” The Prince of Dorne said as he stood before Daenerys, trying his best to calm the stormy waters of Jorah and Tyrion’s fractious relationship. “I apologise if my friend speaks out of turn,” the Prince said, casting an apologetic look at Jorah. “He has had much to drink on our journey to King’s Landing.”

“Some things never change,” Jorah muttered underneath his breath as he stood by his wife’s side. It was enough to make Daenerys smile.

“We appreciate you travelling all this way,” Daenerys replied, keeping up the pretence that the Prince’s visit was a welcome one. Neither of their eldest children would be married off to someone they barely knew for the sake of political harmony. They would marry for love, just as their parents had.

“Arianne is most excited to finally meet young Prince Aeron,” the Prince of Dorne continued. “I have told her many great stories of him…and his illustrious parents too.”

Jorah struggled to resist the urge to roll his eyes, neither he nor Daenerys would be fooled by the Prince’s flowery attempt at flattery.

“You must forgive us, the children are with their maester until the evening,” Jorah replied. “The education of our children is of great importance to us.” His eyes shot to Tyrion as he heard the Imp mutter something under his breath.

“Ah yes,” the Prince replied. “I have heard many good things about the education that every child in King’s Landing now receives. Many good things indeed.”

“We do hope that you will join us for a meal in your honour this evening,” Daenerys said. “Arianne will be able to meet Aeron properly then. I am sure that you are weary from your long journey, so please make yourselves at home in the quarters we have provided you. If there is anything you require, all you need to do is ask.”

The Prince of Dorne nodded his head.

“A chance to rest and refresh oneself would be most welcome, Your Graces.” He bowed to the King and Queen. “Until this evening.”

* * *

“Why do I have to dress up, father?” Aeron said, pulling at the collar of his tunic.

Despite coaching from both parents, Aeron still seemed oblivious as to the importance of the visit from the Prince of Dorne and his daughter.

“The Prince is a very important man,” Jorah replied. “You’ll have to deal with your fair share of dinners like these when you are king.”

“Then I will outlaw such functions when I am king,” Aeron retorted, bringing a smile to Jorah’s lips. If their son was anything like them, he would continue breaking wheels until there were none left to break.

“All you need to do is smile and answer any questions the Prince’s daughter might have for you,” Jorah said, pushing an unruly lock of hair from Aeron’s forehead.

“Do I get to ask her any questions in return?” Aeron asked.

Rhaena rolled her eyes at her brother.

“She won’t be interested in horses or sword fighting,” she said dismissively. “You won’t have anything interesting to say to her.”

“Children,” Daenerys cautioned her eldest set of twins.

Although their children all loved one another, there was still a strong element of sibling rivalry between the four of them, Rhaena and Aeron in particular. If there was ever an opportunity for them to needle one another, they took it immediately and gleefully.

“See if you can find it within yourselves to be polite to one another tonight,” Daenerys said, shooing their four children from the room and towards the banquet to be held in the Prince of Dorne’s honour.

* * *

“There are many beautiful flowers in our courtyard,” Arianne said, smiling sweetly at the person sat opposite her. “You must come to Dorne and see them for yourself.”

Rhaena nodded eagerly as she spooned more food into her mouth, shooting her brother a victorious look.

Much to Daenerys and the Prince of Dorne’s surprise, Aeron had failed to make any kind of impression on Arianne and as the night progressed, it became clear that the young lady was more interested in making conversation with Rhaena than she was Aeron.

Aeron had sat glumly through the meal, shooting dirty looks at his sister. After weeks of being told that he would be the guest of honour at the banquet, he found himself pushed to one side in favour of his sister.

It didn’t seem to matter what Aeron brought up in conversation, Arianne would smile at him before turning her attention back to Rhaena as the two girls gossiped and giggled their way through the meal’s several courses.

“Papa?” Arianne said as she turned to her father. “Isn’t it wonderful that Rhaena wants to come visit with us?”

The Prince of Dorne frowned.

“Let us not forget Prince Aeron. I am sure he would also like to visit us too,” the Prince said hopefully.

Arianne nodded her head, clearly not listening to her father.

“We can pick flowers in the courtyard…we can play in the water fountains…oh, it will be such fun!” Arianne exclaimed, clapping her hands together excitedly.

Jorah tried to hide the grin from his face as he looked at his wife, knowing that yet another of Tyrion’s schemes was falling flat on its face.

“Bloody stupid children,” Tyrion muttered, filling his goblet with wine once more, though loud enough for Jorah to hear.

“Careful, Imp,” Jorah cautioned the small man, his hands balling into fists.

“What are you going to do?” Tyrion countered. “Exile me again?” He taunted, swallowing more wine.

“Maybe I’ll take your head this time instead,” Jorah warned, his voice low but not low enough that Daenerys and the Prince of Dorne couldn’t hear.

“Yes, why don’t you do us all a favour and put me out of my misery?” Tyrion scoffed, tutting when he realised he’d reached the bottom of his goblet’s contents.

Because it was much more pleasing to watch him suffer, the cruel part of Jorah taunted silently. 

Tyrion had been the one to convince Daenerys to exile Jorah for a second time in Mereen. Exiling him for a second time meant that Tyrion had free reign to become Daenerys’ Hand, and that had been the thing that had hurt Jorah the most in those turbulent months when had been separated from his queen’s side.

“Because I need your good counsel,” the Prince of Dorne replied, clapping his hand on Tyrion’s shoulder. “I cannot let my best man drown himself in wine and sorrow.”

“And what if that is what this man wants?” Tyrion shot back.

“There is not enough wine in all the world that will drown your sorrows, my friend,” the Prince replied. “That only leaves women and song.”

Tyrion shook his head.

“And I have had my fill of both of those too,” the Imp muttered.

Jorah and Daenerys shared a look, the pair of them finding it hard to contain their mirth. Despite all of Tyrion’s meddling, the small man had always been an entertaining sort of fellow and one who was so blatant in his superiority over others that when the circumstances were reversed, it was almost impossible not to feel some sort of satisfaction over his predicament.

“What was it that you said to me in Essos?” Jorah asked his counterpart. “The queen will never love you…you have nothing to offer her…no lands, no armies, no honour.”

Tyrion motioned for more wine to be brought to the table.

“Ah yes,” the Imp replied. “I do believe your response was to punch me straight in the mouth.”

“And yet here we are years later,” Jorah replied. “I have been blessed more than I deserve to be and what do you have?”

Tyrion closed his eyes, waiting for the killer blow from his king.

“You have no lands, no wife, no riches to buy your way out of trouble.”

Tyrion shot his king a sour look. “And whose fault is that?” 

There was no point in Jorah answering the question, it was staring both men in the face - Tyrion could blame no one but himself for the mess he found himself in, but would he admit as much to the man who had so often been his adversary?

Hell, no.

Tyrion would broker the marriage deal between Prince Aeron and the Prince of Dorne’s daughter if it was the last thing he did, if only to wipe the smug look off of Jorah’s face.


	10. Pride Comes Before A...

“Your Grace, I really don’t think this is such a good idea,” Ser Marwen cautioned his king. “You should have at least six men protecting you.”

“I was a knight for many years,” Jorah sighed as he tightened his sword belt, finding the weight of Heartsbane in its scabbard a comforting feeling. “I protected the queen from every threat. I think that I am more than capable of protecting myself.”

“That may be so,” Ser Marwen replied, fearing he might anger his king if he pushed the matter too far. “But you are a king now, and it is our job to protect you.”

“I thought it was your job to follow my commands,” Jorah retorted sharply as he nodded to his squire, Sam Tarly. “Come then, Ser Marwen, if you insist on following Sam and I.”

“And what about the others?” Ser Marwen asked, jogging to keep up with the king and his squire.

Jorah smiled as he pulled himself up onto Meraxes, giving his faithful stallion an affectionate pat. “With a man in front and one behind, I’m sure I will be well covered if anyone tries to attack.”

It was all Ser Marwen could do to jump onto the nearest horse and gallop to catch up with his stubborn monarch.

“Again, Your Grace, I must tell you that this is most unwise,” the knight said as he finally caught up.

“It is unwise to check on the construction of the latest school?” Jorah replied. “When the folk of King’s Landing have embraced the notion of education, it would be remiss of me to ignore the effort that has a gone into building such a project.”

“I believe Ser Marwen is concerned that someone may make an attempt on your life, Your Grace,” Sam Tarly replied.

Apart from the continued grumblings of Tyrion Lannister and his political matchmaking, Jorah had little need to worry about threats, verbal or otherwise. These were prosperous times for King’s Landing, after all.

It still didn’t stop Sam Tarly from fretting about him though.

Jorah smiled at his young squire. The boy might be young and naive, but his intentions towards both he and Daenerys went further than just that of a man and his squire. Sam was loyal, honourable and true, and he would undoubtedly make a fine knight one day.

“Do you see any unhappy folk?” Jorah questioned his companions. “We are in a time of peace and I have no intention of surrounding myself with dozens of men merely so that they can act as a shield for me.”

Meraxes pulled up, suddenly letting out a cry of pain as an object whistled loudly through the air. 

Seconds later, Jorah found himself face-down in the gravel with the weight of young Samwell Tarly on top of him.

* * *

“I’ve told you already, I am fine,” Jorah growled as Ser Marwen supported Sam’s weight as they shuffled towards the quarters of Samwell Tarly Senior.

It had all happened so quickly.

Ser Marwen reported that young Sam Tarly had thrown himself towards his king, barrelling both of them to the ground as arrows whistled through the air around them. Ser Marwen had turned in the direction of the attack and attempted to follow the assailant before realising that an arrow had pierced the young boy’s arm and that his monarch lay still beneath him.

Jorah could remember the cry of pain from Meraxes and little else after that. According to Marwen, he was unresponsive for a few minutes before opening his eyes with a groan.

He wiped at the blood that was still trickling from his forehead. He had likely knocked it on a rock in the fall, which would also account for the pounding headache and the ringing in his ears.

It had been sheer luck that another Royal Guard was in the vicinity of the incident and at the command of Ser Marwen, galloped back to the Keep to bring reinforcements, not only for the men, but their horses as well.

It had taken much convincing, but Jorah reluctantly left Meraxes’ side after a promise from the stable boys that his faithful beast would be cared for. It still didn’t stop him from fretting for the horse’s safety though. They had spent many years together and he would rain down merry hell on the man who’d taken a shot at him if his beloved beast did not survive.

“The stable boys think Meraxes’ injury is only a deep flesh wound,” Ser Marwen said, seemingly reading Jorah’s mind. “He is as tough as his master.”

“And as stubborn too?” Jorah said knowingly.

“Aye, Your Grace,” Ser Marwen chuckled. “That too.”

“Ser Marwen, I want you to track down and find who did this. Do not spare any expense…take as many men as you need.”

“As you wish, Your Grace,” the knight answered. “We shall start at the docks.”

“Why the docks?” Jorah replied.

“There was a disturbance the other day when a merchant ship from Essos arrived. The captain demanded to know the whereabouts of Trego Mysaria.”

“Find them and I will deal with them myself,” Jorah growled. “The captain and his men can join Mysaria working in the fields.”

Ser Marwen nodded his head. For all of his patience and kindness, King Jorah Mormont was not a man to be crossed. The sailors from Essos had no idea what they had brought upon them with their foolish act of vengeance.

The door to the Tarly quarters was open before they’d even arrived, and Jorah felt a pang of guilt as Gilly gasped at the sight of her son, who was still clinging to Ser Marwen but growing weaker by the second.

The elder Sam Tarly looked between his king and then his son, stricken that he would have to make a choice as to who to tend to first.

“See to your son,” Jorah commanded as Gilly pushed him gently towards a chair at their dining table.

“Remember what I showed you?” The elder Sam Tarly said to his wife as he kept his attention on their son.

Gilly nodded her head, checking her king for injuries from head to toe.

“That’s a nasty gash on your head, Your Grace,” Gilly said, taking a number of ointments from their place on the shelf. “I don’t think it needs sewing, but it does need cleaning and treating.”

Jorah nodded his consent and closed his eyes as the room span wildly for a moment or two. “I am in your gentle hands, my lady,” he replied, trying to reassure a women who was not only anxious not to hurt her king, but also worried for the condition of her son.

“Sam was exceptionally brave,” Jorah said, hissing slightly as the wet cloth made contact with the gash on his head. “A true knight.”

“Well, he’ll not be wielding a sword again any time soon,” the elder Sam Tarly replied. 

“He’ll be ok?” Gilly asked, feeling guilty for looking away from treating her king’s injuries to check on her son.

“He’s lost some blood and I’ll need to sew the wound up,” her husband replied. “He’ll be on bed rest for several days, but I believe he’ll be just fine, in time.”

“That is wonderful news,” Jorah said, letting out a sigh of relief. “If he gives you any trouble, tell him that I will order him to stay in bed.”

The young squire groaned and pouted his bottom lip, a sure sign that once recovered, the boy would be just fine.

After applying an ointment to the gash on Jorah’s forehead, Gilly set her attention to binding the king’s right wrist that he’d landed heavily on during the fall. Jorah’s eyes widened as he noticed the purpling and swollen appendage for the first time.

“I don’t think anything is broken, Your Grace,” Gilly reassured him, looking up briefly from binding his wrist with a length of bandage.

“It appears that the king will not be wielding a sword any time soon either,” the elder Sam Tarly said with a chuckle, washing his hands of his son’s blood.

“Sam…” Jorah growled, his voice low and his displeasure clear.

“I do believe that it was you who made it law that the Grand Maester outranks his monarch on matters of their health and wellbeing,” Sam replied. “If you disagree, you best take the subject up with your wife.”

“Speaking of which,” Gilly murmured as Daenerys Targaryen stood in the doorway, the expression on her face one of barely controlled fury.

* * *

The walk back to their quarters was made in silence and with the sound of each of his wife’s footfalls, Jorah knew that she was less than happy with him.

“Khaleesi,” he beseeched her as she shut the door to their quarters with a loud bang.

She turned to look at him so quickly that he could feel his vision spinning.

“Don’t,” she cautioned him, raising a finger to silence him.

He swallowed deeply, glad that the children were still busy with their schooling for the day.

“You are angry with me,” he said guilty. He knew she had every right to be.

“I am not angry,” she said, pouring herself a goblet of wine. “I am hurt…more than that, I am disappointed in you.”

He would have taken her anger gladly, but her cold words slipped past his defences and plunged the dagger straight into his heart instead. 

And it was no more than he deserved for his foolish actions today, knowing full well that he should have listened to Ser Marwen when he cautioned Jorah for not having sufficient protection.

“I am sorry,” he said quietly, his head bowed.

“You are sorry that you acted so foolishly or you are sorry that you allowed your ego to cloud your judgment?” She questioned him. “Why do you feel the need to constantly prove your masculinity to the world?”

Jorah opened his mouth to respond before closing it again. She could undo him so easily, she always had.

“How many times do I have to tell you that you are the only man I love, the only man I will ever love?”

“Because you deserve so much better than someone like me.”

Daenerys slammed the goblet down.

“What would you expect me to tell our children if you had died?” She questioned as she stalked towards him. “That their father was a fool who refused to believe of his own worth in the world? That would be of cold comfort to them, I promise you.”

“You are right. You are always right,” Jorah replied sheepishly.

“Being right will not comfort me as the children and I mourn over your grave.”

“I am sorry, Daenerys, please,” he begged her. “Tell me what I can do to make this right.”

She took his face in her hands, their foreheads touching as he winced slightly.

“I cannot lose you; do you understand?” She implored him.

He nodded his head, instantly regretting it as pain shot through it.

“You have a headache?” She asked him, handing him a goblet of water.

“Yes, Khaleesi,” he said quietly.

“Good. It serves you right,” she told him bluntly, before her tone softened slightly. “Let us hope it has knocked the foolishness out of you.”

Her anger seemingly dissipated; Jorah was under no illusions that he still had a long way to go until she would truly forgive him for his reckless behaviour.


	11. A Knight For The Seven Kingdoms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another two for the price of one this week...

Young Samwell Tarly had not expected to enter a room full of people when summoned from his quarters this morning. The stern looks on the knights faces made the young squire feel ill at ease.

It had been several days since he’d thrown himself in harm’s way to protect his king and Sam had not heard a word from his monarch since. A small part of him hoped that the king cared enough to at least be concerned about his injuries and subsequent recuperation.

Each time Sam had asked about him, his father had responded by saying that King Jorah was fine but busy with all of the duties being a monarch entailed. That was the case before the attempt on the king’s life, though, and he had always made time for his squire before.

Sam feared that he had broken some sort of rule by barrelling into his king and pushing him to the ground. From the moment he heard the arrow whistling through the air, Sam knew he had only a matter of seconds to react.

His first conscious thought, his only thought, was to protect his king, even if it meant losing his own life. It was what every good knight did for their king, wasn’t it?

Sam was no knight, not yet, and now he might never be if the king and queen were angry with him.

Sam had asked his father several times if the Jorah was injured in the fall and his father responded by telling him that apart from a sprained wrist, he had little more than a few cuts and bruises.

He had saved King Jorah’s life, hadn’t he?

It was the right thing to do. The only thing to do.

Yet he felt like he was being led to the executioner’s block.

He swallowed deeply as he was ordered to stand before the King and Queen of Westeros.

“Samwell Tarly,” Daenerys Targaryen said as she sat on the Iron Throne.

Sam bent his knee, kneeling before his queen.

“At your service, Your Grace,” he replied, spotting his parents not far away. He could see his mother was crying already.

“You were with the king when an attempt was made on his life?” Daenerys questioned.

Sam kept his head bowed, ignoring the twinges of pain in his still-healing arm.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“You threw the king from his horse?”

He swallowed deeply.

“I did, Your Grace.”

Mysaria’s men had finally been caught and arrested the day after the attack, choosing to spend the rest of their lives in the fields of King’s Landing, alongside the man they attempted to avenge on that fateful day.

Sam closed his eyes, waiting to hear his punishment, his heart hammering in his chest as he saw King Jorah’s booted feet walk towards him.

King Jorah and Queen Daenerys were kind rulers, they would never take his head in front of his parents, surely?

He felt the cold edge of a blade on his neck.

“In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave.  
In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just.  
In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the young and the innocent.  
In the name of the Maid, I charge you to protect all women.  
In the name of the Smith, I charge you to be strong and unyielding.  
In the name of the Crone, I charge you to be wise beyond your years.  
In the name of the Stranger, I charge you to protect all that you love with your life.”

He could hear his mother sobbing quietly as his legs shook, certain that he was having some sort of fever dream.

“Arise, Ser Samwell Tarly.”

Finally daring to look up at the man standing over him, Sam felt tears sting at his own eyes.

A bastard born of Craster’s Keep and now a knight of the Seven Kingdoms, Sam saw his king hold out an arm to help him to his feet.

“I owe you my life, Sam,” Jorah said, shaking his squire’s hand. “Now go and celebrate with your loved ones,” he said nodding his head towards the young man’s family. “I expect you to be back here for the feast though. There is something important we need to discuss.”

* * *

Much ale and wine flowed that night and Ser Samwell Tarly was still trying to get his head around the day’s events. After years of wishing he could be a knight, his dream had finally come true.

He spent several hours with his parents, both of whom could not contain their joy at seeing their eldest son become a man before their very eyes. Lana and Jon hugged their big brother tightly, jumping joyfully around the family quarters in celebration.

It truly had been a feast fit for a king and several of the most important people in King’s Landing were clapping Sam on the shoulder and congratulating him. Even Tyrion almost cracked a smile at one point, whether due to Samwell’s rise from squire to knight or the fact that he and the Prince of Dorne would be traveling back across the Narrow Sea on the morrow with their plans of marrying into the Targaryen dynasty all but thwarted by the capricious nature of children and their whims.

“Sam, may I talk to you for a moment?” The unmistakable voice of Jorah Mormont spoke from behind him.

Sam turned in the man’s direction, trying valiantly to keep the smile from his face.

“Of course, Your Grace.”

“My apologies for being so evasive.”

Sam shook his head.

“You have nothing to apologise for. You are the King.”

Jorah stroked his beard.

“And also a poor liar, apparently.”

Sam frowned.

“I had thought you were angry with me, Your Grace.”

Jorah shook his head as he placed his hands on the young man’s shoulders.

“Never, Sam,” Jorah reassured him. “You have been the most loyal and faithful squire a man could ask for and now a knight in your own right.”

Sam tried to keep the disappointment from his voice, realising that now he was no longer a squire, his place would be somewhere other than by his king’s side. He was a knight, but he had much more to learn before he could even consider becoming a Royal Guard.

“Tell me, Sam. Have you told Ellese your good news? I am sure she would be delighted to know that she has a knight’s affections.”

Sam refused to look at his king.

“You have told her of your affections, haven’t you?”

Sam shook his head.

“I do not wish to win her affections if I cannot promise her a future. Should I want to become a member of the Royal Guard I cannot take a wife.” Sam ran a hand through his sandy blonde hair. “May I ask you a question, Your Grace?”

“Always, Sam.”

“I assume that I will not be by your side anymore now that I am no longer a squire?”

Jorah stroked his beard once more, chuckling. It was a reaction that Sam had not expected. Was the king glad that he would be rid of such a troublesome young man?

“You have proved yourself more than capable of defending your king,” Jorah replied. “Your place will always be at my side. Ser Marwen will take you under his tutelage and present your with your cloak on the morrow.”

Sam blinked in confusion.

“I am not sure what to say, Your Grace.”

Jorah held out his hand, smiling proudly as Sam shook it.

“All you need to say is yes. It would be my honour to have you in our Royal Guard. Now go and tell that lovely young lady in the kitchens of your affections.”

“Your Grace, I have already explained why I can’t. The Royal Guard are allowed to take no wives nor lands. It has been that way for centuries. It is the law.”

“One that has just been changed, Sam,” Jorah replied, turning the young knight toward the door and giving him the gentlest of pushes. “Now, go and tell her before it is too late.”

* * *

Tyrion sat in the dark, swigging several goblets of wine one after the other. There was much merriment to be had in the halls of the keep, but Tyrion could not drag himself to enjoy any of it.

Along with the Prince of Dorne and the man’s daughter, they would board a ship to travel back across the Narrow Sea on the morrow.

Tyrion had been certain that brokering a marriage between young, sweet Arriane and Prince Aemon would allow him to regain a foothold in the politics of Westeros. After his fall from grace, even Sansa Stark, once a wife and an ally, had all but abandoned him and left him to his fate. He was powerless, unable to gain any political leverage in a game he was once so used to winning.

“At least they’ll be plenty of wine, women and song when you return to Dorne,” Ser Davos said, sitting down next to the glum-looking man.

Tyrion swallowed the rest of his wine.

“I’m sure you’ll be glad to see the back of me,” he said, shaking his head at finding his goblet empty.

“Maybe it’s time for you to settle down and find yourself a nice wife,” Ser Davos suggested.

“You think I’m too old to play this game anymore?” Tyrion questioned.

“I think the rules of the game have changed, my friend,” Ser Davos replied. “The king and queen are not pawns you can move upon your table. They won’t be swayed by power or greed. You’ve nothing to offer them that they don’t already have.”

Tyrion closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh.

“Tell me, is the sour old bear a good king?”

“The best I’ve served under,” Ser Davos nodded, folding his arms across his chest. “And I’ve served under a few in my time.”

“At least something good has come of this whole mess then I suppose,” Tyrion muttered as he shuffled of his chair and walked away.

* * *

Still sitting at the table the feast had been laid upon, Daenerys leaned back into her husband’s warm embrace, placing her hands over his as they rested in her lap.

“Rhaena seems quite taken with Arriane,” she said, hearing her husband chuckle.

“Aye, she has spoken of no one else these past few days.”

“Aeron is not best pleased,” Daenerys replied as Jorah rested his chin on the top of her head.

“I am sure he will find a girl who will steal his heart away, just like his mother did with his father.”

“And what of Rhaena? What if she and Arriane want to be more than just friends, would that bother you?”

“Would it bother you?” Jorah countered.

“Of course not,” she replied quickly. “The only thing that I want is for our children to be happy…to give their heart to someone who will cherish it.”

“They will likely have their heart broken a time or two,” Jorah sighed.

“And you must promise me that you won’t hang, draw and quarter anyone who does so, my bear.”

The sexy chuckle rumbling through Jorah’s chest made it hard for Daenerys to resist the urge to drag him back to their quarters to have her way with him.

“A bear always protects his cubs, does he not?”

“There will come a time when they won’t need us anymore,” Daenerys said sadly.

Jorah kissed the top of her head.

“But we shall always need one another.”

She turned her head to kiss him on the lips.

“Always.”


	12. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so don't be mad at me, but this chapter is necessary for the whole curse thing and I think I've been pretty fair by giving the person in question a super long-ass life anyway.
> 
> It also doesn't mean that I won't revisit the AKFTSK universe again, but as they say in the cartoons, 'That's all folks!'
> 
> For now at least, anyway...

“I don’t think it will be long now,” Maester Samwell Tarly said, holding Jorah’s thin wrist and measuring his pulse.

Try as she might, Daenerys could not hold back the tears and found herself drawn into the embrace of her eldest daughter, Rhaena.

“We always knew this day would come, Mother,” Rhaena said, wiping at the tears on her mother’s cheeks. 

Her wife, Princess Arriane of Dorne, stood mournfully at Rhaena’s side.

Rhaena was a woman grown and in her late forties, as were her brothers and younger sister, all of whom had crowded into the room with their own children and grandchildren.

Her mother and father ruled the Seven Kingdoms until Queen Daenerys was in her mid-sixties, when they abdicated and allowed their son, Aeron, to ascend to the throne to continue the good work his parents had begun.

Her father had become increasingly frail in the last few years and it was clear that it would only be a matter of time before the gods took him into their tender embrace. At ninety-four years old, he had lived to see his children grow into adults and to hold both his grandchildren and his great-grandchildren in his arms. Despite his increasing years, her father had always remained young at heart when it came to the children, but as his eyes grew cloudy and his body began failing him, much of the strength that fuelled her father slowly began to drain away, leaving him weakened and bed-bound.

Her mother was in her mid-seventies, her white hair now silver and grey and her face lined with wrinkles. No matter how much time passed, her father always told her mother just how beautiful she was, every single day of their married life.

Ser Samwell Tarly, head of the Kingsguard, stood stoically at the back of the room, but Rhaena could see the tears in his eyes as he gazed upon the skeletal figure of the man who had made him a knight at the tender age of just sixteen. Now a man himself with grandchildren of his own, the love and affection he still felt for the former King of Westeros was clear to see.

Rhaena’s eyes shot back to her father as he let out a groan.

“Daenerys?”

Her mother was by his side in an instant.

“I am here,” she said, taking her husband’s hand. “We are all here.”

“I love you,” her father breathed looking around the room one final time before his eyes closed and his chest stilled.

Later that day the bells would ring, signalling that King Jorah Mormont, first of his name, had died peacefully surrounded by his family and the ones who loved him the most.

There would be no escaping the grief of losing a man that had meant so much to all of them. The sombre atmosphere across King’s Landing would take weeks to lift as Westeros mourned for a man who had done so much to bring peace and prosperity across a once a fractured and disparate landscape. 

Despite his own failings, King Jorah Mormont and his wife Queen Daenerys Targaryen had done much to heal the deep-seated wounds of the past and unite the kingdoms of Westeros, bringing about real and meaningful change to all of its people.

Lords and smallfolk alike from across the Seven Kingdoms would mourn for a man who had left this world a far better place than he had entered it.


End file.
